


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

by bellpickle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8976337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellpickle/pseuds/bellpickle
Summary: I just heard the news this morning and HOLY ****! You and Noct are getting married! And I can go to the wedding and finally meet you in person! I’m happy for you guys and all, but I was wondering how you feel about it? Are you weirded out at all? I tried asking Noct just now, but he gave me this weird look and then walked away without saying anything.

  This is getting pretty long (as usual) so I’ll end it here. Congrats and see you at the wedding! =D

  (100% platonic) Kisses,
  
  Prompto ♥ 
-----Luna receives two letters every week: one from Noctis and one from Prompto. After years of correspondence, she thinks she might know the two boys better than they know themselves.





	1. The Letters

The notebook from Umbra sits opened on Luna’s lap, while the letter from Pryna hides in the inner folds of her capelet, its familiar weight resting against her chest. She looks away, towards the horizon. On this day, the dawn ushers in a gentle breeze that sweeps in from the west, smoothing the bumps and peaks along the water’s surface like a comb through fur. That same wind curves through the narrow canals and glides past her, carrying the thick scent of algae and salt.

Their gondola sways from the turbulence, though the shifting proves too slight to unsteady her hand. She refocuses her gaze onto the curt, hastily-scrawled message staring up at her from her lap. Beneath it, on the blank half of the leathery page, Luna writes,  _ Dear Noctis _ . But on the next line, her pen lingers several seconds too late, drilling an inky hole into the parchment.

From the opposite half of the boat, Gentiana observes her through closed eyes. Her dark hair lifts in the breeze, encircling her shoulders like a shawl. Luna shivers, despite her own covered shoulders; no doubt Gentiana’s presence only worsens the morning chill. “Why does hesitation still your hand?” Gentiana asks. “His is but a simple message.”

“I know it is. But that’s the problem.” Luna sighs as she withdraws her pen. She pouts at the words, re-reading them for what feels like the dozenth, two-dozenth time:

> _ Glad to hear that you made it to Altissia. Ignis says it’s beautiful there. Hope you’re doing well. _
> 
> _ -Noctis _

After years of these messages, Luna knows to search for the hidden words, the sentiments left unsaid. In this instance, the omissions are glaring. No mention of the recent announcement of their betrothal. No reference to Altissia as the city where they will likely be wed. Luna swipes across the words “hope you’re doing well” with the pad of her thumb. The ink is too dry to smudge, but some of the black seeps into her skin, leaving a barely perceptible stain. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t he mention our engagement?”

“Humans are poor listeners of the heart. The prince knows little of his own desires.” Gentiana offers a smile conveying all the wisdom and prescience afforded to a deity. The words inspire the opposite reaction in Luna, who fails to hide her frown. Such mortal, trivial worries must seem foolish to a goddess. Yet her cryptic response frustrates Luna nonetheless.

The side of the gondola scratches the corner of a stone building as they make a sharp turn, the tight passageway spilling into the vastness of the city harbor. The water glows a warm orange in the light of the waking sun. Some of the color spills onto the opened pages of her book, reminding her of the marmalade she ate with her toast as a child, before the Empire burned the orange groves. She still remembers the way Noctis wrinkled his nose as he scraped the gooey jam off his own bread slice. She also remembers his stuttering, red-faced apology afterwards, upon realizing that Luna prepared the marmalade herself.

Across the harbor, the workers at the dock unspool the rope that will anchor their boat. In the precious few minutes that remain, Luna hastily writes:

> _ I am doing well. How are you? For your sake, I hope Gladiolus is not training you too hard. Altissia is even more beautiful than it appears in photos. It fills me with joy to know that you will soon be able to admire it for yourself. _
> 
> _ With love, _
> 
> _ Luna _

She gives the notebook to Gentiana, who will return it to Umbra during the healing. Their fingers brush as the book exchanges hands; Gentiana’s permafrosted skin yields to Luna's touch, the warmth softening the cold. Upon docking, it's a short walk through the harbor then across an arched bridge till they reach the house. As she crosses the threshold, Luna glances over her shoulder to say goodbye—only to find that Gentiana has already left.

Inside, the air is stagnant, heavy with the odors of blood and feverish sweat. A pair of women, one young and one old, lead Luna to the innermost room of the house. There's a worn bed in the room's farthest corner, and atop the otherwise bare mattress lies a young boy no older than twelve. A folded wet cloth sits on his forehead. He trembles violently, though the room is unbearably hot, and moans from some noxious ailment. Her eyes flicker towards the basket at the foot of the bed, which holds a pile of brittle rags, each one stained the deep red of ripe tomatoes.

Luna takes the boy’s hand within her own and summons a single tendril of healing light, which flows forth like warm honey, sinking beyond the boy’s wounded flesh. Once the light reaches his chest, she senses it almost immediately. The darkness within, the encroaching scourge blotting the stars. It inches up her arm, twisting through her like a fire whirl. Inside it, she feels none of the comforting warmth of the sun; instead, there is only a red fury, the infernal heat, and its promise of destruction.

She bites her inner lip and tries to hide the pain, which of late seems to grow worse with each healing. It feels almost as raw as the first time, when she was but seven years of age. That first pain consumed her in an instant, like a volcanic eruption, all thought smothered in a curtain of smoke and ash. Noctis was asleep at the time, but awoke upon hearing the scream that tore from her throat. Though he pulled at her shoulders, she remained stubbornly curled around his lifeless legs, a hand on each knee as the light drained from her palms. She awoke after a three-day sleep and cried upon seeing Noctis at her bedside, still strapped to his wheelchair. Then there was darkness, and the feeling of his fingers brushing her tousled hair as the tears seeped into her pillow.

Luna drains the last bit of poison from the boy’s body. Though a messy brushstroke of dried blood still clings to his skin, the deep gash that once marred his chest is now smooth and unblemished. The next moments are muddled, like words on a waterlogged page; she remembers only that the young lady wept as the boy's chills faded and the color returned to his freckled cheeks. After a moment of rest, she excuses herself from the house. There’s a slight quiver in her hands as she exits, which she quells through the clenching of her fists.

Outside, the lingering chill melts into a tepid warmth. Visitors and residents alike now crowd the sidewalks, and immediately Luna feels the weight of their admiring stares. She flashes a polite smile and quickens her pace. People whisper as she walks past—gossiping about her engagement, no doubt. As if in confirmation of her thoughts, she hears a hushed “crown city”, spoken just loud enough for her ears to catch. Reminded of the unread letter in her breastpocket, she quickens her pace even further.

The narrow boat dips and rocks from her weight as she takes a tentative step onto the bench and then another to the floor. The lift of the oar brings a spray of cold droplets; when she finally pries the letter from its hiding place, she uses her hands to shield it from the water. The envelope, coated in the waxy veneer of all crown city paper, is plain save for the cartoon sketch of a baby chocobo in the bottom corner. The sight of it always brings a smile to Luna’s lips. She uses her finger to carefully undo the seal and then pinches the papers out from the fold—two sheets this time, less than Luna expects considering the recent news. The stationery is a soft pastel blue, like the picturesque skies in postcards or old paintings. In contrast to Noctis’ uneven half-cursive scrawl, the print on these pages is full of neatly-traced lines and curves. Luna presses the papers flat against her lap and smooths the creases as she begins to read:

> _ So a quick update on the developments from last week. The invitation wasn’t a prank after all! I don’t know if the King had a moment of temporary insanity or what, but for some reason, he really let a total rando like me into the throne room. It’s a good thing Gladio and Iggy were there to do all the talking because I was way, way, way too nervous to say anything other than “hi” and “nice coat.” _
> 
> _ Anyway, the King asked us to keep a closer eye on Noct from now on, though he didn’t really say why. Knowing Noct, he probably did something dumb, got caught, and then didn’t tell anyone about it, haha. But I guess this means I’m officially in the group, right? Like “ **in** ” in the group. Though I have no idea what I did to deserve it. I mean, as far as bodyguards go, you’d think the army would have tons of guys who are stronger than a puny dude like me, right? I know I’m probably imagining things, but do you think Noct said something to his dad to make the whole thing happen? I dunno. Thinking about it makes my head hurt. _
> 
> _ Okay, so I wrote that first page last night before passing out from exhaustion, but I just heard the news this morning and HOLY ****! You and Noct are getting married! And I can go to the wedding and finally meet you in person! _
> 
> _ I’m happy for you guys and all, but I was wondering how you feel about it? I know you two have been friends forever, but are you weirded out at all? I tried asking Noct just now, but you know how he is. All the emotional expressiveness of a rock, that prince of ours. I kept asking and asking, but then he gave me this weird look and then walked away without saying anything. I mean, he obviously adores you, so I’m sure he’s excited. He’s probably just in shock or something. I know I am! _
> 
> _ This is getting pretty long (as usual) so I’ll end it here. Congrats and see you at the wedding! =D _
> 
> _ (100% platonic) Kisses, _
> 
> _ Prompto  _ _ ♥  _

Luna folds the papers once more, frowning despite her friend’s kind words. She notices a square silhouette wedged in the corner of the envelope and fishes the object out. It’s a polaroid of a square slice of chocolate cake, stacked with layers of mousse and crumb topping. One corner has a noticeable chunk missing. On the back is a message written in marker:  _ Iggy made this cake to celebrate. He should totally bake this for your wedding! _ With a heaviness in her chest, Luna places the photo and letter back in the envelope, which she then tucks into her pocket. Something about the tone of the letter bothers her, though she does not know why.

She slouches forward, feeling suddenly tired. Her fingers still tremble slightly from the strain of the healing, and now there is a throbbing at her temple to match it. She  _ should _ feel happy. The empire could have easily chosen a husband far, far worse than Noctis. They will likely lead a happy life together, for however long she has left in this world. And yet her chest seizes at the thought of the wedding, as if her body were trying to collapse inwards. It is a strange circumstance that their reunion should inspire the same feeling as their separation, all those years ago, tears streaming down Noctis’ cheeks as his father carried him farther and farther away, till the iron-plated backs of the Niflheim soldiers obscured them from view.

_ Noctis, _ she wonders. _ Do you hurt as well? _


	2. The Scrapbook

When Luna arrives at the hotel, Gentiana is already awaiting her in the lobby. She spots her standing near the base of the stairwell leading to the upper floors, her posture painfully erect and still—almost catatonic. A breeze wafts in from outside and parts the opening of her robe, revealing the golden web of loops and curls embroidering its interior. Contrasted against the ornate marble staircase at her back, she looks like an expensive decoration, more statue than human.

Then Gentiana finally turns to face her. She pauses mid-greeting, her brow creasing in dismay. “Your hands,” she says, with a hint of accusation. “The pain is stronger than you claim.”

Luna clenches her fists once more. _Not such a statue after all_ , she thinks. “I can handle the pain. I’ve been through worse.”

Gentiana moves to speak, but then seems to think better of it. The crease smooths from her forehead, but her lips flatten to a thin line. It’s the ten-second version of an argument they’ve had countless times before, an argument that they are now too weary to reenact in its entirety. Instead, Gentiana says, “Rest for today. We journey to Lestallum at first light.”

They climb the staircase in silence, the plush carpeting muting the sound of their footfalls. Only then does Luna notice the ache in the soles of her feet; even trading her heels for flats was not enough to rid her of the soreness of walking. She thinks back fondly to the shoes of her childhood: open-toed sandals on sunny days and waterproof boots for when it rained. Upon discovering that they wore a similar shoe size, she grew accustomed to borrowing sneakers from Noctis when they played in the forests surrounding the palace. Her brother mocked her mercilessly for months afterwards, crowing on and on about her “manly feet.”

A dull pain blooms in her chest at the memory. As a child, she thought she hated Ravus; now, her heart aches for the irritating older brother of her youth. Luna glances at Gentiana, who lags a few paces behind. "How long will we stay in Lestallum?"

“The Empire allowed us ten days until...” she pauses, displaying a rare moment of hesitation. They both know what awaits them in Tenebrae. In her mind, Luna envisions her brother greeting her before the doors of their childhood home, his strong hands clinching her shoulders like the jaws of a vise.

Luna pauses before the door to her room, her hand lingering atop its brass knob. She turns to face Gentiana and is relieved to see that she has yet to abandon her physical form. “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Luna begins, her uncertainty echoed in the slight tremor of her voice. Despite the goodness of her intentions, Gentiana is about as helpful as a toad when it comes to matters of the heart—but then again, who else does she have to talk to?

“Yes?” Gentiana asks, with a gentle lilt.

Luna clears her throat, which has grown parched from her sudden nervousness. “As Oracle, I sometimes feel … disconnected. I’ve devoted my life to helping the sick and the wounded, yet I understand little of their emotions, their desires, or the lives they’ve lived. Everyone I encounter treats me as though I’m separate from humanity. It’s-” _Lonely_ , Luna thinks, but instead says, “-tiresome.”

Gentiana’s head tilts ever so slightly as she considers her response. Luna recognizes all of her odd quirks, the little habits she’s picked up from many lifetimes spent in the company of humans. “You _are_ separate from humanity,” she answers, and to Luna, the words feel like an ice pick needling into her chest. “The Oracle is the sacred thread linking divinity and mortality. It is a path that you alone must walk.”

Gentiana then touches her arm in an apparent display of sympathy—though the cold is hardly comforting. Luna gives her a wordless nod. She cannot deny the truth of her words. _But_ , her mind whispers, _That won’t stop you from trying_.

Luna finally unlocks her door. When she turns to close it behind her, Gentiana is nowhere to be seen. With the flick of a switch, a warm light spills over the room. Pryna is nestled atop her bed, the bedsheets heaped into a messy bundle beneath her. Luna clicks her tongue twice and Pryna immediately hops off the bed and onto the floor. Pryna then sits beside her writing desk and wags her tail in anticipation.

With a sigh that seems to make her whole body wilt, Luna rests her weight atop the edge of her mattress. She shrugs the capelet off her shoulders, plucks Prompto’s letter from its inner pocket, and rereads its contents. The words feel no less bothersome the second time through. It feels a little too peppy, even for Prompto, as though he wished to drown all other emotions in a tidal wave of enthusiasm.

She walks to her table, flattens the letter atop its surface, and then places both sheets of paper beneath her heaviest and dullest book: Advanced Cosmogony Theory, 7th Edition. She then pries her luggage open and retrieves a worn cloth-bound scrapbook. As she leafs through the pages, she notes that, after inserting this newest letter, only a few blank slots will remain.

In many ways, the collection of letters feels like an archive of adolescence: the few pictures of Prompto show his face grow longer and more angular with age; his handwriting shapeshifts from messy printed letters to neat cursive, before finally settling into a hybrid of the two; and unlike the messages from Noctis, which steadily diminishes with every passing year, the length of Prompto’s letters seems to fluctuate based on a complex algorithm of mood, whim, and time of day.

She randomly lands upon a page containing a photograph of a triangular slice of brown cake coated with white frosting. The letter beside it reads:

> _Iggy’s teaching me to bake! I made a carrot cake to practice, since carrots are super cheap right now … but I totally forgot that Noct hates carrots!_

At this part, Prompto drew a small face with its mouth hanging open in what appeared to be a scream of horror.

> _I said he didn’t have to, but Noct ate a whole slice of the cake on his own … even though he looked like he hated every bite. He’s, like, nice to the point of insanity. Has he always been like this?_

Luna smiles fondly at the frankness of his words. Even young Ravus lacked the audacity to refer to their crown prince as “insane”—though he certainly inferred it on many instances. She glances through the letters immediately preceding this one and remembers that this was the point where the names “Ignis,” “Gladiolus,” and “Noctis” transitioned to the nicknames “Iggy,” “Gladio,” and “Noct.”

Beneath the table, she hears Pryna whine and then rub her forehead against her left calf. “Just a little longer,” Luna says, though they both know she is merely stalling in writing her response. She flips to the very first page of the book. The letter contained within is not the first letter she received from Prompto, but it is the first one she chose to save, as she realized then that their correspondence would likely continue. Even now, Luna can recite the first few lines from memory alone, as if the words were imprinted in her mind:

> _I talked to Prince Noctis today … It didn’t go well. But I’m gonna try again! I won’t disappoint you!_

In her response, Luna must have inquired as to what happened, as Prompto’s next letter simply reads:

> _I don’t think he’s interested in being friends with someone like me. But I’ll work hard and make myself better. Wish me luck!_

Despite her repeated attempts to wheedle him into divulging more information, Prompto never gave so much as a hint as to what “making himself better” entailed. Years passed before Prompto finally spoke with Noctis once more:

> _LUNA. My plan worked! I finally talked to Prince Noctis and he talked back! I was so nervous this morning that I seriously thought I might chicken out. But it actually worked! We even sit next to each other in homeroom. If this is a dream, don’t wake me……_

At this point, Luna became curious enough to do some light prodding in her message to Noctis. She received a response a few days later, which read:

> _School is okay. It’s not much different from middle school. I did meet someone interesting, though. We were actually classmates in middle school, but for some reason, he’s acting like this is the first time we’ve ever met. Maybe he just doesn’t remember me._

Even now, remembering the last line of his message makes Luna laugh so hard she pitches forward, till her chin is nearly touching the table. When she composed her reply to his message, she had to summon every ounce of her willpower to refrain from writing, “I am certain he forgot. I doubt he found you very memorable.”

Luna skips to a section closer to the middle of the book and lands on a page displaying a particularly sketch-heavy letter. At the top is a plume of little penciled hearts, floating towards the paper’s edge like a bouquet of balloons set loose. Beneath it are the words:

> _None of us had dates for Valentine’s, so we just spent the whole day hanging out at Noct’s apartment eating sugar cookies. Pretty lame, huh?_

Then there’s a drawing of a single heart with a fracture running through its center.

> _I know I shouldn’t think like this, but sometimes when the four of us are hanging out, I feel … out of place. Like they’re including me to be nice, but I know I don’t really belong. The three of them have known each other forever, and sometimes when they talk to each other, it’s like they’re speaking their own language._

Last is a sketch of a chocobo sporting the same hairstyle as Prompto. Next to its mouth is a speech bubble containing the words, “Good luck, me!”

> _I’m staying positive though! After all, if they let me into their group in the first place, there must be something about me that dazzled them. Right??_

Luna finds herself rereading this particular letter every so often. It feels representative of so many of the letters she’s received over the years: optimism coupled with insecurity, loneliness coupled with gratitude—as if his thoughts are a tangled ball of yarn, each emotion inextricably linked with the next.

Exactly a year later, she received yet another memorable letter:

> _Gladio somehow scored a date for today (boo! hiss!), so Iggy, Noct, and I went to the beach by ourselves. Noct asked me who my “ideal type” was and I just said, “Someone who really loves me for who I am.” Which I KNOW sounds super sappy, but it’s also … kind of … true …………_
> 
> _Anyway, Noct told me my standards are too low. But when I asked him the same question, he wouldn’t even answer me! (Boo!! Hiss!!)_

This letter is accompanied with the only photo of Noctis in the entire book. It was taken from a distance and shows the prince sitting atop an overhanging rock hovering several feet above the water, his legs bravely dangling over the edge. There’s the slightest tilt of a smile on his lips, one that seems much shier than the dewy-eyed grins he so often wore as a child. In the white space bordering the bottom of the polaroid are the words “what a lonely guy” scrawled in blue ink.

Luna harbored the suspicion that the words held more truth than Prompto realized. When she received a message from Noctis that same week, it simply stated:

> _Went to the beach with friends a couple days ago and spent most of the day fishing. The fish I wanted to catch didn’t take the bait, though._

Luna finally skims to the latest entry, the one she received a few weeks prior. In the top right corner is a cartoon sketch of Prompto himself with a cold compress placed on his forehead and a thermometer poking out from his mouth.

> _I got so sick this past week that I became delirious and apparently went on an hour-long tirade against pastel-colored socks (!!). The only reason I know this is because Noct (bless him) visited me on the day I was sickest, and helped nurse me back to health with soup from Iggy and about twenty hours worth of cartoons. But he left when my fever started going down a couple days back ... and I haven’t seen him since._

There’s another drawing of the Prompto chocobo, but now his head droops and a teardrop hangs from his left eye.

> _Do you ever miss someone, even when barely any time has passed since you last saw them? Is that normal? When Noct was around, I felt like my regular, happy self. But now that I’m alone again, I’ve spent most of the past couple days just curled up in bed. And somehow, the sadness I feel now is *infinitely* worse than when I actually didn’t have friends._
> 
> _I dunno. Maybe I’m still delirious._

Luna brushes the words with her fingertips, as an aching pain blossoms in her chest. Something clicks in her mind, like a key in a locket or a scramble of words rearranged into their correct order. With a smile, she whispers, “I may not understand the hearts of most people. But I certainly understand _yours_ , my friend.”

After placing the latest letter in a new page, Luna closes the book and hides it in the innermost pocket of her luggage. Instead of retrieving her stationery set, she pulls out her itinerary and examines her schedule for the following ten days. Including travel time, she has three days to spend as she wishes—likely intended as a brief respite in Lestallum before the return journey to Tenebrae. But if they leave Lestallum at daybreak, it should be possible to arrive in Insomnia before sundown… which would allow for a single day in the city.

Already she can sense Gentiana’s disapproval, thrumming in the air like the early rumblings of an avalanche. But Luna is the Oracle—and if her gaze is steadfast and her heart unwavering, then not even a goddess has the power to stop her.


	3. The Visit

If Altissia is a big, bustling city, then Insomnia is endless and exhausting. With the recent influx of immigrants, sneaking into the capital proves a surprisingly simple task; however, navigating the city is another matter entirely.

Luna wobbles unsteadily as the train lurches forward, her shoulder crashing against the valley of Gentiana’s back. If the touch alters the goddess’ stubbornly placid expression, Luna does not see it through the heavy tint of her sunglasses. She catches a glimpse of herself on the nearest window, in the narrow gaps that separate the many bodies surrounding her own. Though Luna insisted on a disguise, as she now inspects her appearance, she realizes that she could do with freeing herself of a garment … or two.

Certainly, the surgical mask is a bit much. Though it conveniently covers the bottom half of her face, the shells of her ears feel tender from the tugging of its handles and her skin is already sticky from the heat of her own breaths. Worse yet, her sunglasses are comically large, doubly so when combined with the baseball cap latched onto her too-large head like a suction cup.

Her brother’s voice trickles into her mind, unbidden. “ _Your head is ill-suited for a crown of any size_ ,” he once said, his voice a poisonous brew of envy, scorn, and worry. “ _It’s too swollen with concern for others_.”

Luna bows her head in reflexive embarrassment, her shoulders rising to meet her reddened ears, which are still painfully visible beneath the mask. Even in those earlier years, her brother’s teasings had already gained their thorny edges.

After a moment’s hesitation, Luna lifts her fingers to her ears and unlatches the loops anchoring the mask to her mouth. The cloth wilts onto her palm like a shorn petal. Predictably, no one takes notice of her newly-exposed face; in a city as overstuffed as this one, no one seems remarkable. Not even the Oracle.

The train slows as it pulls into the station. When the doors slide open with the ring of an electronic bell, Luna locks arms with Gentiana—who stiffens against her in silent protest—and drags her off the train and onto the platform, where a churning mass of people have already begun to converge. The two of them sink into the push-and-pull of the crowd, which carries them through the station’s wending hallways and out the nearest exit. When they finally emerge in a cobblestone courtyard, Luna takes in a deep breathe of the cool, pleasantly fresh air.

There’s a fragrance to this place, one that she would find difficult to describe if Prompto hadn’t already done so in a letter he sent months prior. It was a happier note and one she recalls from memory, if only for the weeks upon weeks of insecurity and worry that preceded it.

“ _Classes are actually going pretty well,_ ” he wrote in the opening line, framing the words with thick, penciled lines that looked like stars, or maybe fireworks. “ _And my campus is AMAZING! Not that I’m, like, an expert in college campuses or something, but for an uncultured newbie like me, this place is pretty sweet. And for some reason, the quad always smells like cotton candy! It’s like this school was made for me._ ”

The more Luna wanders the campus, the more thankful she is of Prompto’s penchant for oversharing. His letters and photos are a guiding thread through the branching pathways; she passes the tire swing that he once used to take a blurry photo of the sky, the hilly lawn he sunbathes in when the weather’s warm enough, the coffee shop he often drags Noctis to during the prince’s frequent visits.

Classes seem to have ended for the day and the sidewalks are cluttered with students, who rush past her in every direction. She makes her way towards the slightly less crowded space at the side of the path, but pauses when Gentiana abruptly gives the sleeve of her oversized hoodie a sharp tug. Luna glances towards her, lips twitching downwards in mild annoyance, until in the periphery of her vision she sees a bobbing blonde head duck just out of view.

She spins on the heels of her sneakers, which make a ridiculous squeaking noise on the pavement. It does not take long for her to find him once more, despite the several blonde heads that now stand between them. Though slightly mussed beneath a set of large headphones, his is coiffe she can pick out from any crowd. Even at this angle, she can see the jagged, uneven tufts of hair hugging the delicate curve of his jaw. He parts his hair even more dramatically than Luna does her own, and at the rift that cleanly divides his locks in two, his hair curls upwards like a newborn leaf stretching towards the sun.

Oblivious to her presence, Prompto continues to stroll down the path, bopping his head to a tune that only he has the privilege of hearing. When he nears the entrance of the coffee shop—the one he mentions in his letters—he makes a sudden, sharp turn and grabs the door handle. As the door swings open, the chimes suspended from its top edge tinkle like shattering crystals.

Luna tiptoes towards the side of the shop and lingers near the window, peeking inside. A line extends from the cashier and through the center of the shop, before curving along the sides of the wall. She watches as Prompto jumps into the back of the line with a small hop. Her heart shivers pitifully within her chest, its frantic beats swallowing all other sound. It’s a testament to the strangeness of her life, that she should grow accustomed to speaking with foreign dignitaries and even kings, yet feel so ill-equipped for a meeting as simple and mundane as this.

There’s a fleeting touch on her shoulder, like the gentle lift of an autumn breeze. Gentiana, who until then seemed content to loiter at her side in wordless disapproval, now tilts her head curiously and says, “You needn’t hesitate. I know the strength of the conviction that brought you here. Your words will sway his heart, if only you allow him to receive them.”

Luna glimpses over her shoulder and meets the surprisingly kind expression on the other woman’s face. “I thought you didn’t approve of all this.”

“Concerning your personal affairs, my approval matters little.” With a smile containing infinite patience, Gentiana adds, “As you’ve made clear to me, over these years.”

It’s the harmless sort of teasing, all blunt corners and rounded edges, yet Luna still feels herself shrink in embarrassment. She knows she’s been difficult, in her own way. “Thank you for understanding. If you’ll endure one more selfish request, I … I think it might be best if I speak with him alone.”

They both know that she cannot truly be left to her own, but still the goddess acquiesces. “As you wish,” she replies as she takes a step backwards, and then another, until Luna can barely feel her at all.

When she peeks through the window once more, she sees that Prompto is already halfway through the line. She takes a deep, shaky breath before stepping out of the shadows and into the shop. The moment she crosses the threshold, she is hit with the aroma of baked flour, roasted beans, and cocoa, and she lingers at the door for a moment, breathing it all in. Then she balls her fists at her side and takes a few short strides across the room, causing the wooden floorboards beneath her to creak with every step.

Prompto stares straight ahead, headphones still sitting snug around his ears. As Luna inches closer and closer, the more she realizes, with a sort of fuzzy awe, how beautiful her friend is. It’s far more noticeable in person than in his photos; his camera fails to capture the glow of his skin or the way his hair adopts a reddish tint when it catches the light just so. She thinks back to the countless instances, particularly throughout his younger years, in which Prompto complained about the natural slightness of his build or his difficulty with gaining muscle instead of fat; and now, it amazes Luna that he was ever so conscious of his appearance.

When a tap on his bared shoulder fails to gain his attention, Luna resorts to tugging on the back of his corduroy vest. Prompto’s eyes go wide before blinking several times in rapid succession. He glances in her direction, an obvious look of confusion overtaking his face. “Um,” he mumbles as he slides his headphones off his ears and onto the back of his neck. Then he points at himself with a single outstretched finger, his head tilting sideways in silent inquiry.

Luna can’t help the smile that spreads across her lips; his mannerisms are just as cute as she always imagined them to be. Wordlessly, she removes her sunglasses and finally yanks the dreadful baseball cap off her head, allowing the hair hidden underneath it to now flow freely across her shoulders. Then she watches with no shortage of amusement as realization descends upon Prompto like a griffon come to roost, his eyes growing wider and wider till Luna fears they might split at the seams.

His jaw drops, seemingly of its own volition, and his throat emanates a sound that seems caught between a wheeze and a squawk. “L-LUNA?!”

Prompto’s voice carries throughout the entirety of the store, drawing stares from those nearby. Luna immediately shoves the sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose, though the cap remains crumpled between her flexed fingers. “Keep your voice down, please.”

Prompto nods and claps his hands atop his mouth. He scans the room conspiratorially before taking Luna’s wrist and leading her to a somewhat less cluttered corner of the cafe. “What are you doing here?” he asks, in a voice that just barely qualifies as a whisper. “How long are you staying? When did you even arrive?” As a deluge of questions tumble from his mouth, his gaze darts from her face to the tips of her shoes and back, as though he can’t fully believe what he’s seeing. It’s more or less the reaction Luna anticipated.

“I’m only in the city for the day,” she replies, her voice full and heartened for the first time in far too long. “I arrived this morning. Unfortunately, I must depart at sunrise tomorrow.”

There’s a slight shift in Prompto’s expression. Though the smile remains on his lips, there’s now a tension pulling at its corners; his shoulders sag ever so slightly. “Ohh. I’m guessing you’re here on official wedding business, huh? That’s exciting! Did you guys decide on a date yet? I’ve been asking Noct, but he keeps-”

Luna places her hand on Prompto’s forearm, intuitively understanding that even this simple touch is enough to hush him mid-sentence. “The Prince is unaware of my visit. I’m actually here to … to speak with _you_. About something important.” Prompto’s eyes widen once more, his fingers unconsciously tightening around her wrist. Shyly, Luna adds, “Only if you’re not already previously engaged, of course.”

Prompto shakes his head so frantically that a surprised laugh sneaks its way through Luna’s lips. “No, nope, no engagements here! Well, I’m technically supposed to be working on an art history project right now, but it’s fine. I’ll drop everything!” Prompto leans forward grasping her hands within his own. “I can’t believe you’re really here!”

“Yes, well,” Luna says, smiling. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna totally has hat hair and Prompto is just too nice to call attention to it. :3


	4. The Reply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while. My apologies for the delay, and my thanks to those who patiently waited for this story to conclude! Enjoy! :)

It’s the small, seemingly inconsequential things that surprise Luna the most, the little quirks and qualities that only their dozenth or hundredth letter might have revealed, now made plain in a single encounter.

As children, when the trust between them was not yet mutual, needling information from Prompto felt a bit like tugging thread from a tightly coiled spool. But now that her friend is finally near, his true nature spills forth, unbidden. She can see it in his restless, tottering step: the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as if swaying to some secret melody. He’s wearing the same eager-to-please smile that he’s donned for the past half hour, though it flattens at the edges when he turns to look at her.

“To tell you the truth, the food here isn’t all that great,” Prompto says, eyeing the food truck parked just a few paces ahead of them. “You know, if you want, we could go somewhere a little … fancier?” He accompanies the suggestion with a hiccup of a laugh, a pinch of reflexive shyness sinking into his voice, like a dollop of honey in tea.

Luna smiles, in a way that she hopes is reassuring. “This will do just fine. Besides, fancier is the last thing I need.”

Prompto’s eyes widen for just a moment, until he succumbs to a laugh that seems somehow freer than his last. “Man. You two are like peas in a pod.”

Luna glances at him in question, but in a rare moment of restraint, Prompto pokes his tongue out teasingly and chooses not to elaborate. They both take a step forward as they finally reach the front of the line. The plastic menu taped to the side of the order window has a sketch of the restaurant’s white chocobo mascot, which is cutely plopped atop a hamburger bun.

Prompto rattles off a list of food items, some of which Luna instantly recognizes, such as the Chickatrice burger. Others, like the red bean pancake and spicy Garula belly french fries, sound more questionable. (“No way, princess,” Prompto says upon blocking Luna’s attempt to pay for the food. “You’re the guest! Besides, I could always borrow some cash from Noct … probably.”)

The food is soon delivered to them in flimsy, grease stained paper baskets, which they carry to a nearby picnic table. The last glimmers of sunlight retreat past the horizon, ushering a night sky too bright for stars.

As Luna settles into the bench opposite her friend, she muses that the crown city is likely the only place in Eos that feels more alive at night than day. The boutique shops lining the street remain open, a warm glow emanating from each window display. The pavement itself seems to twinkle under the moonlight, as if in imitation of the unseen stars.

Even now, with the protection of the city’s endless bulbs of light, she can still sense the darkness that corrodes their world, its coils twisting through the air with a malevolent energy. But in a city as big and blinding as Insomnia, she can allow herself to forget, if but for a moment.

Once seated, Luna stares quizzically at the french fries, which are barely visible beneath the layers of melted cheese, shredded chickatrice meat, and salsa. “Do you … eat this with your hands?”

“Definitely not,” Prompto says with a laugh as he hands her a plastic fork. “Well, Noct does. But he’s a savage.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Luna gingerly spears a french fry with her fork and eats half of it in a single bite. Compared to her usual diet of starfruit, mixed greens, pine nuts, and tea, the flavor of this food is overwhelming; she can barely even taste the potato beneath all the cheese. “Does the prince eat food like this often?” she asks, after taking a generous sip of water.

“Yup!” Prompto replies, a mouthful of food muffling the sound of his voice. “His eating habits are even grosser than mine. Iggy’s trying to improve his diet, and you can guess how that’s going.”

“I suppose some things never do change,” Luna says with an absentminded nod as she nibbles on the remainder of her fry. Noctis had always been the more rebellious one; she still remembers his stubborn refusal to touch a single roasted vegetable heaped onto his dinner plate, a stubbornness which persisted even during their manners lessons.

Prompto nibbles on the edge of a fry, his gaze turned skyward. The moon is brighter here than in Tenebrae. As a child, Luna’s mother often told her the story of the moon: how Titan forged it from shards of crystal and glass, in order to shine a path for Leviathan through the dark and endless waters. Luna wonders if the scourge might one day smother even the moon’s light.

“So. What was Noct like as a kid?” Prompto tosses the remainder of his fry into his mouth, and then chews and swallows before continuing. “I mean, I still kind of remember him, but back then, he seemed-” Prompto makes a vague circular gesture with his hand, like the slow churn of a water mill. “-Like someone I couldn’t talk to.” He leans forward as he awaits her answer with an eager, puppy-eyed anticipation, his entire body seeming to tip towards her.

“I suppose he’s always been a bit shy. Strangers mistake that quality for aloofness, but I think it’s the opposite. Happiness, sadness, pleasure … he feels all of it even more strongly than do. He tries to hide it because he thinks of it as a weakness, but in reality, it’s his greatest strength. ”

They’ve stopped eating, their food growing cold in their trays. The city is finally settling into a fitful slumber: the food truck shutters its windows, the nearby storeowners lock their doors for the night, and the distant lights clustered in the city’s center begin to wink out one-by-one.

“Did you know that the prince was often teased as a child?” Luna asks. “Not by his classmates —they didn’t dare to—but my brother and his friends thought of him as an easy target. Noctis is so sensitive, after all. He tried to act as though their bullying didn’t bother him, but it was quite obvious that it did. ”

Prompto smiles a slow, creeping smile, one that crests the corners of his lips like a gentle tide. It’s a marked difference from the dimpled, open-mouthed grins he so favored in his photos, the ones in which his mouth took the shape of a perfect orange slice. He pops another fry into his mouth and speaks as he chews. “Yeah, he does try to act cooler than he actually is. Or maybe it’s more like … what’s the word? Unaffected? Like he tries to care about stuff less than he actually does. Sometimes when we’re hanging out, we’ll overhear someone say something unkind about him or his father, or sometimes even you, and Noct always shrugs it off, like it’s beneath him to care about some random person’s opinion. But then he’ll be in a mood for the rest of the day. Actually, he’s been in a mood for a while now, and the Six only know what caused it this time.” He laughs, though it sounds strained, his voice fraying at the edges. “Anyway, I guess he hasn’t changed much.”

“I’m not so certain that’s true.”

“Huh. Why not?”

Luna shrinks away, her arms folding across the front of her waist. There’s a thought now surfacing to the forefront of her mind, one that causes a tightness in her chest, like an inwards compression. It’s a truth that she’s known for a long time, but never fully acknowledged. Already she can feel her words failing her. 

“You might have noticed that in my letters, I ask you many questions about Noctis. How he is doing, your activities of late, whether anything is troubling him. I ask those questions because I am genuinely unaware of the answers. Noctis … he does not tell me much about his life or of his thoughts or feelings. And I do not tell him much in turn, at least not anything of substance.” She thinks of their shared notebook, and how with each passing year, their messages to one another grow more and more distant in tone.  _ Hope you’re doing well. I am doing well. How are you? _

Luna realizes her hands are trembling. She balls them into fists on her lap, steadying them once more. “I do love Noctis. I love him with all my heart, and I always will. But everything we know of each other —our memories, our shared experiences—all of it is in the past. And in the past is where it has remained. Noctis and I love each other, yes, but I think we love each other for the children we once were, not for the adults that we have become. ”

A smothering silence descends upon them, choking off their words like a mouthful of cotton. Prompto opens his mouth, but shuts it once more, as though rethinking his response. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows creased with a mixture of pity and panic. He looks perfectly miserable, and Luna feels an instant pang of guilt for causing him such distress.

“Please do not feel sorry for me,” Luna says. “It is the way of things. People grow close, and then they grow apart. It does not mean the relationship was meaningless.”

“Geez. You’re so mature. I don’t think I could handle stuff like that as calmly as you do. Just the thought of losing you or Noct or Iggy or Gladio scares the heck out of me. I want to hold on to everyone, for as long as I can.” He sighs, great and heavy, like the arid gusts battering the wastelands of Leide. “So is that why you two are being so weird about the wedding?”

“It’s one reason,” Luna replies, carefully. “I can guess at the other.”

“Hmm? Then I bet you understand Noct more than you think. I’ve got no idea what’s been bugging that guy so much.”

Luna looks into Prompto’s eyes. They gleam even in the dark, as though imbued with their own unique light. In them, she can see his every fleeting emotion, each burning as bright as a falling star in the midnight blue sky. His eyes are too honest; they fail to obscure even the parts of himself that he wishes to hide. “Are you sure you don’t know?” she asks.

She notices a flickering in his gaze, one that feels equal parts certain and uncertain. There’s a question on his lips, but before he can ask it, Luna says, “Do you mind if we walk for a bit? I’d like to see more of the campus, if that’s alright.”

They dispose of their food and walk down the path towards the art building, which sits in a quieter corner of the campus. Other students mill about the pathways and grassy lawns. There’s a denseness to the air here, a sort of tangible energy borne of such a large concentration of happy, healthy youth. Luna realizes, with a sudden clarity, that this is the first time in years that she is in the company of so many people her own age.

The art building is less of a building and more of a well-kept barn. It is sheltered within a grove of trees so thick that it nearly blots out the city lights. Prompto guides her through the cluttered hallways , past the occasional cluster of unused easels, and into a studio housing a collection of half-formed sculptures. Most are of wild beasts: Luna glimpses the fanned tail of the Karlabos, the fanged teeth of a Behemoth depicted mid-roar, and the monstrous shape of the Zu captured in flight. In one corner of the room is the all-too-recognizable plumage of a chocobo, which is the sculpture Prompto directs her to.

“This one’s mine! Shocking, I know.”

“Well, your love for chocobos is nothing if not consistent.”

Prompto pets the clay chocobo along its feathered back. “I’m still trying to choose what color it should be. I love all chocobos equally, so it’s really hard for me to pick.”

“I’m partial to black chocobos myself,” Luna says.

“Really?” Prompto asks with wide-eyed wonder. “Huh. In that case, a black chocobo it is!” He picks up a needle-like tool and chisels at the clay, contouring the feathers to look smoother and rounder. He hums a tune beneath his breath, a gentle, soothing melody that reminds Luna of a nursery rhyme her parents sang to her, once upon a time.

On the desk neighboring Prompto’s sits a gorgeously detailed rendering of Shiva, her arms spread outwards as if in embrace. Luna considers taking a picture to show Gentiana, but then thinks better of it.

“You know,” Prompto says, his eyes still focused upon his work, “I kinda get the feeling that there’s something you want to tell me, but you’ve been holding back from saying it this whole time.” He sets the tool back onto the desk and uses his nails to pick off the flecks of dried clay clinging to his palms. “It’s … not something bad, is it?” He glances at her timidly, his brows creased from nervousness. He continues scratching at his palms, even when there’s no longer any clay left to remove.

Luna pulls over a nearby stool. Its rubber-coated feet make an unpleasant screeching noise as she drags the chair across the short distance to Prompto’s desk. “It’s not bad, but it is a bit complicated. Actually, it’s a favor of sorts.”

“ _You _ need a favor from _me_?” Prompto asks with a brand of self-deprecating surprise that seems worryingly characteristic of him. “I mean, I’m only really good with a camera. Well, and a gun, I guess. You’re not gonna ask me to shoot someone, are you?”

“Thankfully no. It concerns the wedding. Noctis and I … we are both aware that our marriage is a formality. It is good for our people and our kingdoms, but it says nothing of our personal feelings or desires.” She pauses to collect her thoughts. There’s an endpoint to this conversation, one that she has been tiptoeing towards the whole night—or perhaps even before that, in Altissia, when she pieced together the puzzled, half-hidden emotions of the boy who now sat before her. “After the wedding, life will continue on as always. Noctis will remain here in the crown city, while I travel throughout Eos. We will not see each other often. I imagine the prince will feel quite lonely.”

_As will I_ , Luna’s mind whispers with a sense of dire certainty. Surely this is Emperor Aldercapt’s most ingenious punishment yet: consigning the lonely Oracle to an even lonelier marriage.

“All I ask,” Luna continues, “Is that you stay at the prince’s side. I suspect he’ll need you quite often.”

Prompto’s entire face seems to brighten, a tinge of redness coloring his freckled cheeks and neck. His expression reminds Luna of a besotted teenager chattering about their latest crush. Noctis must be quite hopeless, she thinks, to have not realized it himself, after all this time.

“I mean, I probably would’ve stuck around Noct anyway, even if you didn’t ask. He isn’t gonna get rid of me that easily.”

“I assumed as much. Noctis will need his friends.” Unthinkingly, Luna adds, “Especially after I have passed.”

“What do you mean?” Prompto tilts his head, his lips curving into a taut, uncertain smile. The redness retreats from his cheeks, suddenly, as though drained from his body.

For a moment, Luna considers changing the subject. But when she looks into his eyes—clear and trusting and utterly vulnerable—she knows she won’t. Not now.

“Not a lot of people are aware of this, but healing the sick is quite painful for me. It is impossible for me to fully explain how it feels, but the healing … it’s more like a transferral. Only the Chosen King can truly rid humanity of the scourge. All I am able to do is suck out and swallow the poison. And I am beginning to sense that I have swallowed too much of it.”

Luna feels Prompto’s hand cover her own. His fingers squeeze onto hers too tightly, painfully so, as if she might slip away from him if he were to loosen his grip. “Luna, please-”

“Nothing is for certain. It’s just a feeling I have, like a tiredness that I can feel everywhere inside me. I am tired, Prompto. And when I’m-” Her throat clicks and tightens, like the closing of a valve. She takes a deep breath, wills her muscles to ease, and then tries once more. “When I’m gone, I ask that you watch over Noctis in my stead. He cares for you, more than you seem to realize, and I-”

Her words are cut off once more, this time through no fault of her own. A pair of arms—firm but gentle—wrap around her sides and pull her in close. Prompto’s vest feels coarse and itchy against her cheek, but the scent wafting from his skin is unusually pleasant, like the smell of a garden after a spring rain.

“You’re always like this,” Prompto says, his breath ruffling the hairs at the back of her head. His voice hitches, just loud enough to be noticeable. “Even Noctis thinks so. We worry about you too, you know. And you’re always, always hurting yourself to help other people. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

For a moment, time seems to slow and then stretch, like an elastic band. There’s a tightness in her chest, an uncomfortable weight that makes her breaths come out in shuddering gasps. Prompto massages her back with his palm, tracing a wide arc in the space between her shoulder blades.

Luna closes her eyes, but it does little to stop the wetness from leaking out, down her cheeks, and onto the corduroy of Prompto’s vest. She had forgotten how painful it feels to cry: how sore her eyes become or how her chest heaves with each sob, as though the air were wrenched from some deep, private place within her.

Eventually, the tears dry and the sobs fade into a soft, rhythmic hiccupping. Though her situation remains unchanged, Luna feels better. Lighter. When she finally steps away, she is greeted with a gentle squeeze of the shoulder and a smile as warm as the morning light.

Few words pass between the two of them as they walk the short distance from the art building to Prompto’s dormitory. At the front entrance, Luna says, “Unfortunately, it seems I’ve run out of time.” Luna shivers. There’s a sudden chill in the air, unnatural in magnitude; the cold beckons to her with its icy tendrils.

Prompto nods, his eyes darting downwards, then up once more, as though visibly searching for words to say. “Thanks … you know, for everything. I don’t know if I was any help to you, but, well, I tried.”

“You did help. More than you could ever know.”

“Ahah, I guess I can be your shoulder to cry on, if nothing else.” He shifts from foot to foot, gaze drifting sideways in thought. “Despite everything, I get the feeling that it’ll all turn out okay in the end. At least, that’s what I want to believe.”

“Yes,” Luna replies, smiling in spite of herself. “I want to believe that too.”

Prompto embraces her once more, without warning. “Goodbye, princess. See you again … someday.”

The noise of the city is muted to a low hum. Luna retraces the winding trail: past the well-kept barn, the manicured lawns, the food truck, and soon finds herself along the tree-lined path marking the transition from college to city. Gentiana awaits her near the front gates. Umbra sits at Gentiana’s heel, the tome-like notebook set neatly before his front paws. If Gentiana notices the red puffiness of Luna’s eyes, she does not acknowledge it. “Was it worth your while?” Gentiana asks, in a voice that betrays no emotion.

It’s an odd question for the goddess to ask, and they both already know the answer. Still, Luna replies, “Yes, it certainly was.”

Umbra prods the notebook towards her with his nose. The newest message from Noctis is even shorter than the last:

_ Training is okay, not too hard and not too easy. Everyday feels kind of the same. _

Luna rereads the message once more, parsing the words for deeper meaning. She can sense his lethargy, but also his wistfulness: for the past, for the opportunities now lost to him, for the risks untaken.

In Altissia, she struggled in composing even the most banal response to the prince’s letter. Now the words flow freely, effortlessly, like a great migration of thought from mind to paper. As she writes, Luna wonders if this message—these exact words in this exact order—have been within her all along, simply waiting to be discovered.

* * *

_ My dearest Noctis, _

_ Monotony is an old acquaintance of mine. I do not know what shape it takes in your life, but in mine, it manifests most plainly in Tenebrae, where entire days and weeks seem to slip away from me. But this is, in essence, the life I made for myself. _

_ There is something I have kept from you, and from everyone, about that fateful day in Tenebrae, all those years ago. I feel I must tell it to you now, so that you may learn from my mistakes. _

_ I have heard your father’s version of what happened. According to him, as the three of us fled the palace, I shook his hand off mine. He urged me to continue running, but I chose to stay in my conquered homeland, with whoever remained of my family. _

_ In reality, I am not so noble nor decisive a person. I remember staring at your father’s back as we ran. Behind me, I could hear my brother’s anguished cries. We were in the forest, and the ground was quite uneven. I felt a jutted tree root snag my foot, and then my hand slipped from your father’s grasp. _

_ In that moment, I was presented with two options. Should I choose to protect my home or escape to a new land? Should I choose to follow my only friend or remain with my only brother? Should I choose freedom or fealty? I stood there, frozen, unable to decide between one or the other. And so the world decided for me. _

_ In the years since, I have often felt as though much of my life has been an extension of that one sliver of time, in which I chose to do nothing. The last thing I want is for you to inherit the same fate. _

_ Noctis—my prince and my oldest friend—you are so blessed. You still have the opportunity to act and to make the choice that counts. Even now, the ones you love, and especially  _ _ the one _ _ you love, await your decision. _

_ There is still time. I trust that you will use it wisely. _

_ Love always and no matter what,  
_ _ Luna _


End file.
